


The Word on the Street

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Trope Bingo Round 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: "I heard it from Chuck, who heard it from Cadman, who heard it at girl's poker night from Elizabeth that Caldwell told her he's already got a shelf cleaned off for the trophy."
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64





	The Word on the Street

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Trope Bingo AU:Sports square. No balls were harmed in the writing of this fic.
> 
> *

"The word on the street—what? That's a perfectly acceptable term!" Rodney protested.

"Gossip, McKay? Seriously? You don't have better things to do with your time?" John watched Rodney's face redden and—yep—there was his _Why-do-I-put-up-with-this_ face—right on schedule. John bit back a grin. Really, pulling Rodney's pigtails just never got old. Hell, it was ninety-nine percent of why he came to the labs in the first place.

Taking pity on the guy, and with a little bit of curiosity he didn't care to admit to, John motioned for him to continue. "Go on. Get it out of your system before you bust something."

Rodney immediately perked up. Not that his twinkling eyes or happy grin made any difference to John. He was just being a supportive friend. That's all. 

After checking over his shoulder, Rodney lowered his voice. "I heard it from Chuck, who heard it from Cadman, who heard it at girl's poker night from Elizabeth that Caldwell told her he's already got a shelf cleaned off for the trophy." 

Rodney bounced on his toes. "My guess is he's planning some kind of competition." 

John rocked back on his heels. "Really." 

Rodney had a point. It did sound like Caldwell was planning some kind of sporting event. Why else mention a trophy? Hm, this bore looking into.

"Aha!" Rodney smirked. "You're thinking the same thing I am. That Caldwell has put together a crack team to ensure he wins against us!"

John found himself agreeing. "I wouldn't put it past him."

Caldwell had come damn close to becoming the CO back when John had turned into a bug. Elizabeth had put a stop to it, but he'd always suspected the Colonel still resented losing Atlantis, especially after having it almost within his grasp. 

Rodney was scowling now. That couldn't be good. "What?" John asked. 

"We don't know what kind of competition he has planned. How do we prepare for it, if we don't know what it is?"

"We make a list," John said, pleased with his solution. "If it's any kind of track event, Ronon can't be beaten. Between you and Zelenka, we've got chess covered. Although, you might want to brush up on it. I noticed your game can be a little off when you're distracted."

"And what about you?" Rodney asked.

John rubbed the back of his neck. "I should probably practice my golf game. It could be better." He shrugged. "What else?"

Rodney began making notes on his tablet. "It's the wrong time of year for winter sports. That rules out hockey, skiing, and curling." 

"Wait a minute. What's to stop Caldwell from dialing up an ice planet?" 

Rodney's mouth dropped opened in a soft, "Oh, shit."

"Right. Hurry up and get that list posted. I'll round up the Marines, and we'll see what our talent pool looks like. You get the scientists on board." He squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "We're not letting Caldwell win this one."

They still had a week before the Daedalus arrived. It wasn't much time, but John had a plan.

*

"I'm not sure I'm the right person for this, John," Teyla said, frowning. "Surely there are others, someone from Earth perhaps, who could do a better job?"

"Nope." John smiled with as much charm as he could muster. "You're exactly the right person for the job. No one could ask for a better coach."

"You are certain of this?" she asked, beginning to waffle.

"Absolutely!" 

"Very well. But someone will have to explain all of the different rules to me."

"That's not going to be a problem. Rodney's already loaded up a tablet with everything you'll need to know." 

John walked away with a happy bounce to his step. The Marines would play their hearts out rather than lose in front of Teyla. So would the scientists, once Rodney convinced then that they'd have to take sparring lessons if they failed. Plan A was coming together like a dream.

Just as he was about to contact Rodney and do some well-deserved gloating, Rodney's irate voice came in over the radio. "Sheppard, we've got a problem. How quickly can you get to the lab?"

"On my way!" John ran. 

A dozen scenarios went through his head. Explosions? Wraith? Some Genii trick? No, Rodney had called him on their private channel. He slowed his pace and walked into the lab to see a red-faced Rodney glaring at Radek.

"What's up?" John asked.

"Radek's been holding out on us," Rodney grumped.

"What is it? Is he some secret curling prodigy or something?"

"Ha! Very funny, Sheppard. No. But he knows all about the trophy. He designed it!" Rodney yelled, emphasizing his ire with the pointy finger of doom.

"Easy, Rodney. This is good news. It means Radek can tell us what sport to focus on." 

"He won't say," Rodney huffed. "The traitor."

John did a quick mental inventory of everything at his disposal that he could use as a bribe. He hitched his hip up on the corner of Radek's desk and smiled. "Not even if I volunteer for a month of light switch duty?" John waggled his eyebrows for good measure.

Rodney smacked him in the shoulder. "You won't even do that for me!"

"Ow." John rubbed his shoulder. Rodney was learning to pack a punch. Aw, his little astrophysicist did him proud. It still hurt though. 

"I cannot do that Colonel Sheppard." Radek shook his head. "It's not what you think it is. There is no sport."

"See? That's what he keeps telling me!" If Rodney's glare could have produced fire, Radek would have turned to ash by now.

"Okay, calm down, buddy, you're not helping matters. Why don't you go find something to work on, and let me talk to Radek?"

Rodney moved a few feet away but stayed within hearing distance. It would have to do. "So, Radek, when you say, this isn't what we think, what do you mean?"

"I know American games. You are thinking of a trophy with a big basketball or football on it, yes?" Radek pushed his glasses up on his nose. "This trophy has nothing like that."

"Okay. Then why don't you describe it to me? I might be able to pick up a clue you're missing." 

Radek couldn't possibly be familiar with every sport, and a trophy didn't need to have an obvious connection in its design. Still, it couldn't hurt to look. John had seen a lot of trophies in his day, and he might notice something Radek hadn't.

"You are wrong. But if you insist, I suppose it can do no harm. I will show you, and you can decide if it helps." 

Rodney stomped over. "Great, let's see it."

Radek opened a drawer, but before he pulled the trophy out, he cautioned, "Remember, this was Dr. Weir's idea."

John glanced at Rodney who looked back at him with equal puzzlement. Right, the entire word-on-the-street had started with Elizabeth.

Radek put the trophy down on the desk. Six inches high and bronze in color, it had a small plaque set in the wood base. All very typical. Except for the huge, bronze heart. John picked it up to read the plaque and blanched.

"What?" Rodney pushed his way closer and snapped his fingers. "Give me that!" As soon as it was close enough to read, his face paled to match John's. 

"You see?" Radek grinned. "Sadly, I seem to be out of the running. Still, I do not think this is something you can train your Marines for." His eyes twinkled with pure devilment when he added, "Of course, I could be wrong."

"Shut up, Radek," Rodney groused. "C'mon, John, you're not going to Kirk yourself into this one."

"I wouldn't—I wouldn't do that, Rodney. Not ever." John shuddered, and let Rodney lead him away. He didn't put up any argument when Rodney took him to their spot on the pier and shoved a beer in his hand. 

"You okay?" Rodney pressed his shoulder against John's and waited.

"Yes." He leaned into Rodney. "Don't say anything. Just don't." John ran a hand over his face and bit back a hysterical giggle. The honor could be all Caldwell's for this one. 

Rodney managed to keep quiet for all of sixty seconds. "It could be worse. At least you didn't have your Marines line up outside Elizabeth's door for practice sessions."

John buried his face in his hands and thanked the universe for small favors. 

Rodney afforded him another thirty seconds of peace before he elbowed John in the ribs saying, "You realize, there's no way in hell could we have guessed what the contest was for. Or that Elizabeth and Caldwell—you know what? I'm going to just shut up now."

John groaned in agreement. "Some things I didn't need to know. And I hope you've learned a lesson about listening to gossip."

"What do you think? Is it a foregone conclusion or should I try out for it?" Rodney teased. "It is for _The Galaxy's Greatest Lover._ I'm sure if I put my genius to work…."

"No!" John grabbed Rodney's waving hand and pinned it close to his chest. He kept a tight hold on it and announced, "You're not going anywhere."

"Ha! You just want my genius all to yourself."

Rodney must have heard his muttered, "Maybe," because a wide smile spread across his face. Daringly, John pressed his thigh against Rodney's. 

Rodney's eyebrows rose, but he didn't move away. One step ahead, as usual, Rodney raised his can of beer. "A toast! To discovering genius."

He looked down and saw their fingers were laced together where they rested on his chest. A bond that seemed unbreakable. Oh.

John could drink to that.

~*~


End file.
